


You, Me, Us

by Chngminxo



Category: B.A.P
Genre: Angst, Friends to Lovers, M/M, gotta love that angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-12
Updated: 2017-03-12
Packaged: 2018-10-03 05:43:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,456
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10237130
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Chngminxo/pseuds/Chngminxo
Summary: It's funny how easy it can be to fall in love.





	

vii.

The music was so loud that Junhong could hardly hear himself think. It pulsed like a heartbeat through his chest, sending shockwaves of nervous energy down each of his limbs, leaving him tingling in their wake. People were screaming, calling his name, the names of his friends and brothers and partners in this insane journey. There'd been a time over the past twelve months when he had honestly thought he would never feel this again, never _do_ this again. There'd even been moments late at night, in the suffocating dark of his room, when he feared all promises of friendship and forever were falling apart.

 

“Two minutes!” A voice called, and Junhong's head was spinning. The sound of blood pounding in his ears was taking over the rhythm of nearby screams and overpowering music until it was all he could hear. His face was hot, and it felt like his heart was working its way up his oesophagus and threatening to spill out of his body altogether. Voices were raising, wires were tangling and the forms of staff and dancers and musicians were rushing all around, just silhouettes in the wings, almost invisible. Someone pushed past him and he stumbled, wheezed, tried to catch himself and his breath and control of what he was doing. Soon, Junhong's breaths would begin to grow unsteady, his chest would scream for air and his legs would give way to the long descent to the ground.

 

He only realised his hands were shaking when a palm brushed against his and fingers twined to keep his still. Junhong turned his head towards Yongguk. He was smiling through the dim, electric lights flashing from the stage across his face in random intervals. It would look eerie, if it wasn't so comforting.

 

Yongguk didn't say anything, he didn't have to, but when the stage side manager pointed their cue, his hand squeezed Junhong's, and suddenly the maknae could breathe again.

 

Finally, they took the stage as six, and Yongguk didn't let go of him until the very last second.

 

 

 

i.

Junhong gripped hold of his suitcase and sucked in a deep breath. It was the last of his stuff, what little of it he'd brought with him from Mokpo at least. The night before he left for Seoul, he'd sat on the floor surrounded by everything that mattered to him, trophies, knick-knacks, gifts from his friends at school offered in parting, and as a good luck. He had spent hours pouring over every little thing, deciding what he would take with him as memories of a home by the sea far too far away. Everything seemed so meaningless now, so infantile as he was faced with a dormitory full of five others, all whom felt much older than him.

 

“Here, Junhong-ah, let Hyung help.” Himchan came to his side, all warm smiles and welcoming nudges. He took the suitcase from Junhong's hold, carried it with ease towards the small bedroom all six of them were to share.

 

They were a funny assortment of boys and men, all mismatched and nervous. There was the dancer from Songnam, closest to Junhong in age and already eager to explore, the singer from Uijungbu who already was caught in a flurry of tidying and fixing and making this place a _home._ Junhong had only met the spotty boy from Busan once in the company building, but he was quick to see how he hid his timidity behind laughter, and struggled to regulate his own volume. Of the hyungs, Himchan seemed to be a calming force for all of them, even though there were moments when he did smile too wide and laugh a little too loud. Sometimes, he reminded Junhong of his brother back home, albeit quite a lot older but it was a comfort all the same.

 

Lastly there was Yongguk, the oldest, and the most experienced. They all knew of his knowledge of the industry and word of his talents preceded him, but now all he did was watch them, arms folded, as they all went about unpacking their things. No one seemed game enough to walk within a metre of him but Himchan, and no one would choose a bed until he had decided his own.

 

The first night was the hardest, and Junhong was the first to turn in for sleep. He pressed his face into his pillow and pretended he was at home while his arms dragged the sheets and blankets around him as though trying to manufacture an embrace. The bitter scent of cigarette smoke carried in the open window from the nearby balcony.

 

“So here we are, I guess.” Himchan said, and Junhong heard a non-committal grunt follow after, it was Yongguk. The only Seoul native emitted a laugh, “They've chosen their best for this. Daehyun and Youngjae's voices mix beautifully together, and Jongup's dancing is out of this world.”

 

“And the maknae?” Yongguk asked, his tone amused, unimpressed.

 

“He dances skilfully, and raps almost as well as you. He's talented, Yongguk.” Himchan replied.

 

“He's a child.” Yongguk dismissed. Junhong closed his eyes as tight as he could and brought his blankets around himself even tighter. He wondered how hard he would have to concentrate until he convinced himself he could hear the sea.

 

 

 

iii.

Hong Kong was hot and humid and overwhelming. The air felt heavier and thick, and as the concert was progressing Junhong noticed it getting harder and harder to draw back into his lungs. All six of them were panting more than usual, hands gripped on microphones, scrambling for water whenever they had the chance. He noticed Himchan and Yongguk stumbling to the side of the stage too frequently for comfort with white faces and heaving chests until, right at the close, Yongguk was gone altogether.

 

They were ushered from the stage once the lights went down, adrenaline thumping through their veins as they burned through their high. Daehyun was jumping up and down, laughing as he threw a towel at Jongup, who shoved playfully back at him.

 

“Where's Bbang?” Himchan asked, but Junhong could barely hear him over the noise of the crowd and of the staff and of Daehyun, as always.

 

“In the green room.” Their manager, Kang, replied. His face was serious, brows furrowed with concern, “He'll be okay.”

 

The cameras were everywhere when they made it in. Yongguk's hand was curved over the front of his oxygen mask, holding it to his mouth as he took in deep and slow breaths. Someone was talking to the staff in Chinese, and Kang was urging him to move and gather his things, but all Junhong could manage was watch the way Yongguk seemed so weak, so afraid. Far from the fearless leader, and loving Hyung he was learning to know.

 

On their way out of the building, Junhong was stuck gazing at his hyung's back. When they had met, Yongguk had seemed like a giant, but now with every passing day they were growing more and more level. He wondered if he would ever outgrow him, but he doubted it. Something inside him had him thinking it wouldn't be possible to outgrow Bang Yongguk.

 

Ahead of them, Himchan was climbing into the van, and Junhong caught Yongguk's sleeve. He turned his head, glancing back with a furrowed brow, his exhausted gaze questioning.

 

“Don't smoke anymore.” Junhong said, voice soft with anxiety, “I can't... You looked...” His lips twisted, brows furrowed as he tried to find the words, “Just don't. Please, hyung.”

 

A weak smile slanted at Yongguk's mouth and gently he brushed his fingers through the maknae's half-deflated hair, “Don't worry so much, Junnie. That's a hyung's job.” Junhong closed his eyes and settled into the warmth of affection, but all he wanted to do was press closer, to feel his body against the warmth of Yongguk's own, to listen to the steadying safety of his rhythmic heartbeat.

 

When they made it back to Seoul, they took showers in age order. Junhong was always last, scrambling for whatever hot water the elder five had left for him. The bedroom was empty once he made it back to dress, and on his way in he noticed a red, gold and black pack of cigarettes lying in the bottom of the trash can, lid open and fags spilling out. It was Yongguk's favourite kind.

 

 

 

iv.

Junhong stumbled, caught himself against a wall, laughed. His mind felt fuzzy and his arms like jelly and stairs were just so complicated. It wasn't like he'd had that much to drink, just a couple of shots as they were handed to him by steady hands and encouraging smiles. It sure hadn't felt like a lot.

 

“Junhong?” Yongguk's voice sounded somewhat distant, but it was warm. Like a summer breeze fresh on his winter-chilled cheeks. He loved how Yongguk could always thaw him out.

 

“Yonggukkie!” He said, a little too loud. His voice seemed to echo and he giggled again, made it down to the bottom of the stairs. A pair of strong arms found their way around his middle to steady him and the room stopped spinning. Junhong turned his head up at their leader with a bright smile and cheeks that had been flushed red by soju and makgeolli and hands that wandered too far.

 

“Fuck Junhong.” The leader groaned, he wasn't smiling, “You said they wanted to talk to you. What the fuck happened?”

 

“No no we did talk! They wanted me to help entertain some investors, show them what their money was for!” Junhong said, waving his hand through the air. He swore it had been innocent, just a group of men friendly and affectionate. They had kept hands on him as he swayed, prevented him from toppling over once or twice as he reached across the table to politely fill their cups again and again. _So polite, pouring drinks for his elders!_ He was praised, just like Yongguk used to.

 

“To help entertain.” Yongguk echoed, grimacing, tightening his hold, “You need to be careful, especially with them. If you are too trusting, one of these days they'll trip you up and I am not guaranteed to be there to catch you.”

 

“I can walk _fine,_ Hyung I'm not gonna trip.” Junhong hiccupped, Yongguk pursed his lips. The maknae didn't stop to think about what his hyung had meant, “Thank you for coming to get me, you're such a good Hyung.”

 

The leader sighed, tipping his head to flick his dark hair from where it tumbled down into his eyes, “Idiot or no, I'll always come and get you.” The severity of his tone did nothing to deter Junhong's wandering hands from where they slipped along his neck, humming aloud.

 

“You're handsome, Hyung.” He hiccupped.

 

“You're drunk.” The leader replied, tilting his head away.

 

Junhong's amusement came as a breathy laugh, his hand pressing to a cheek, turning Yongguk's head. He could just feel the rough texture of stubble breaching the surface of his skin, and his heart thumped a little faster once their eyes met, “You're still handsome.”

 

When Junhong kissed Yongguk, his lips were softer than he expected, pleasantly full, and while the leader stood in shocked paralysis, Junhong took in his taste. It was everything he imagined it being, and more, and his head tilted into the kiss, his lips parting and his tongue already searching until Yongguk woke up. His palms withdrew from Junhong's body as though he had been burned and he stepped back quickly, almost tripping over himself.

 

“What the fuck!” The leader snapped, voice hushed as though fearful they would be heard.

 

A warm flush of shame took over across Junhong's cheeks, his heart launching its self into his throat, “Hyung-” he tried, hands shaking, feet unsteady as he stepped forward, closer.

 

“No, no stay away from me.” His tone was thick with disgust and Junhong winced, watched, waited as Yongguk wiped his palm across his mouth, smearing Junhong away, “What the hell are you doing?”

 

“I just- I wanted-” The maknae tried again. His lungs were feeling tight, his breaths growing uneven.

 

“That was a mistake, Junhong. You made a mistake, god you're so fucking _drunk.”_ It sounded like an excuse, an easy out to explain everything away.

 

“I'm not _that_ drunk.” The maknae retalliated, with offence on his tone, “It wasn't a mistake.”

 

“Yes it was. A stupid, stupid mistake.” Yongguk shook his head, ran his fingers through his hair, “And one you can't afford to be making. You can't be both an idol and a teenager, Junhong.”

 

“I know what I am doing!” Junhong snapped back, “A-and I know what I'm feeling!”

 

Yongguk paused at that, lips parting in shock until his head began in a slow rhythm of shaking, “No, you do not know what you're doing. You're still at school, you're confused.”

 

“I am not confused, and I know what this feeling is and you do, too!” Junhong cried, “Stop talking to me like I'm some clueless kid, I'm seventeen!”

 

“Exactly!” Yongguk barked out a humourless laugh, “I am twenty-three! This cannot happen, Junhong.” He gestured between them, eyes wide, “This _cannot_ happen. Not ever.”

 

The pain that shot through Junhong's chest brought tears to his eyes and he turned his head before they could fall. By the time they made it back to the dorm, Junhong was almost sober. His mind was a mess of exhausted fog and his eyes were red from being rubbed as he had pretended he wasn't crying. He brushed his teeth, scrubbed at his face, tried to wash that night from his skin.

 

When he lifted his head, he saw Yongguk in the reflection, standing behind him.

 

“Never talk about this to anyone.” He said, tone infuriatingly steady, “I won't either.”

 

Junhong grabbed his towel, pressed the soft cotton in against his face and sucked in a slow breath, “I thought you'd at least care that I'm falling in love with you.” He saw the way Yongguk tensed from the corner of his eye.

 

“You're not old enough to know what love feels like.” The leader said as he turned towards the door.

 

“Fuck you.” Junhong spat, but Yongguk's steps did not falter.

 

 

 

vi.

The train rocked as it pulled out from the station. It was crowded, peak hour, and both he and Jongup had struggled to make it between evening commuters to find a section of railing to hold on to. This hadn't been hard for Junhong, who's arms could stretch out or up to steady himself in the tide of bodies, but Jongup was smaller. They ended up pushed in the middle, face to face, but it wasn't uncomfortable. They were used to living close.

 

“Where is it you're off to again?” Jongup asked, Junhong glanced to him.

 

“Kibum's hosting a party. Some get together for a bunch of his model friends, he wanted me to come.” The maknae shrugged. He'd put more effort into his appearance that night than he had in what felt like months. Jongup nodded, glanced down at the leather clinging to his thighs, the boots, the white billowing shirt detailed with something that probably made sense to whatever designer had scribbled it on paper.

 

“Sounds fun.” Junhong's lips quirked at the tone in his friend's voice. He didn't think it sounded fun, but he was supportive enough to pretend.

 

“You?” Junhong prompted, and it was Jongup's turn to shrug.

 

“Himchan.” Was all he said but Junhong understood. In the days the six of them had spent packing up the dorm, he'd wondered if that would be it for them, the six of them. He wondered if he'd go back to Mokpo, if Daehyun would return to Busan. Jongup was good at keeping to himself, Youngjae happy to fall back into his old habits and friendships, Himchan just knew so many people Junhong doubted he'd have time anymore. It had not been that way, though, not even for a week, and six months in the five of them saw almost as much of one another as they had in the years preceding. Only one person had disappeared.

 

Junhong felt his fingers navigating to his pocket, where his phone was pressed snug against his outer thigh. When he'd awoken early in the morning four days before there'd been a text, received in the middle of the night and unexpected. In his sleepy daze, he'd opened it, stared in disbelief at the six black words printed in a sky blue bubble across his screen.

 

_Text from: Yonggukkie hyung_

 

_I miss you. Wait for me._

 

At first, he'd been relieved, then came the anger, followed closely by the indignation. It had hurt, to go months on end without so much as a word. He had seen the others frequently for meals, spoke to them over the phone when they could not meet, kept one another updated. Yongguk, on the other hand had disappeared the moment the dorm door swung shut behind him, faded back into the world of his family, of his art, his mind. Junhong had sent him a couple of texts at first, updating him on where he was living, who he was with, moments of his day that reminded him of their dear leader, but as Spring flowers began to blossom, no replies had come, and by Summer he had finally given up. Seasons changed around him, but he became resigned to the fact that Yongguk wouldn't.

 

“Have you heard from Yongguk-hyung recently?” Jongup asked and Junhong startled. He glanced over towards his friend, noted the way his heart seemed to leap into his throat.

 

He shook his head, “No.”

 

“Himchan hasn't either. I figured if there was anyone else he'd contact it'd be you.” The Songnam boy always had a way of knowing, and Junhong turned away before their eyes would meet.

 

“Last I saw he was in Thailand somewhere. Or Europe. I don't know, I lose track.” The maknae glanced to the window and found his reflection. An announcement came over the intercom, the train was approaching Itaewon and Junhong dragged in breath.

 

“Have fun.” Jongup smiled, he would stay on the train, heading across the river towards Gangnam and the Hyung that loved him, “I'll talk to you soon.”

 

Junhong smiled and was swallowed by the crowd, dragged by their tide up the escalators and washed out onto the street. He followed winding roads to an address and was welcomed in with thumping beats and too much alcohol, and friends he'd only ever half-made. Kibum pulled him around and introduced him to all the foreign faces, placed a damp glass in his hand and lead him out onto the dance floor where he could close his eyes and stop caring, stop feeling, stop being.

 

Hands found their way around his hips, but it didn't deter him. He loved the feel of them, warm, reassuring, safe in a way he had never known as he tipped his head back and drank his fill until his mind was a haze of nothing and his chest a cage of trapped laughter and jumbled words. Slowly, he moved his hips against another's, curled his fingers into a shirt and pressed close and closer, until no space was between them. He was someone older, a friend of a friend, and Junhong couldn't remember his name but his smile felt so familiar, and his eyes were just as dazed as Junhong's.

 

“My place isn't far...” He said, shouting over the music and Junhong nodded, smiled, laced their fingers together.

 

“Take me there.” He called back.

 

Together they stumbled, laughed, hand in hand and intoxicated beyond belief. It was more liberating than Junhong had imagined, free of restrictions, and of supervision, old enough to be out on his own and his throat was so full of excitement that he didn't have time to feel nervous until he was on his back, goosebumps rising where his skin was left bare.

 

As fingers grasped at flesh and a mouth claimed his own, he wondered what Yongguk would say if he knew. Whether he would shake his head, tell him he was still too young, too innocent, too sheltered to understand. He could imagine the way Yongguk would shake his head at him, say his name in that patronising tone as though he had never once watched Junhong's mouth when he talked, stared too long at his heat flushed skin as he stepped between the bathroom and his bedroom almost naked and on display. With a sick thrill, Junhong wondered if it would make their leader jealous to know that another man got to him first.

 

When morning came, he awoke with a sore body and a pounding head. A man traced fingers over the muscles in his thigh to the hickey on his hip, then slipped free from bed to the kitchen. Junhong rolled onto his side and pulled his phone from his pocket, unlocked the screen, stared at the text. Something swelled in his chest, clawing, aching, a pain that never left.

 

_Text to: Yonggukkie Hyung_

 

_If you miss me, come home._

 

 

 

v.

It was raining on the day that Sleepy came over. The sun had set hours before and the six of them sat together around the small table centred in their common room, eating their full of cheap takeout, the only thing they could really afford. Youngjae's legs were stretched out, his back against the couch between the two hyungs, while Daehyun was sprawled a little way away on his back. All six of them were exhausted, and somewhere between his fifth and sixth mouthfuls, Junhong felt the familiar weight of Jongup's head settling down against his shoulder, his tired arms setting his chopsticks aside to succumb to his fatigue.

 

When the knock came at the front door, neither Himchan nor Yongguk were surprised. Sleepy, their Sungwon hyung, let himself in, having been the only person outside of their management given the code, and he stood in the vestibule taking off his shoes. Junhong saw the way Himchan and Yongguk exchanged a glance, before the leader nudged at Daehyun with his foot.

 

“Daehyun-ah.” he said, and the singer opened his eyes, “Help the maknaes get ready for bed, and take Jae, too. You four should get as much rest as you can before tomorrow.”

 

Sungwon was silent as he watched them file from the room one by one, offering Junhong a reassuring smile when their eyes met, and uncertainty was filling his stomach. Since they'd moved into this dorm almost a year before, he could count the number of times Sungwon had come to visit them on one hand, and it was never for anything good.

 

Not fifteen minutes later, both he and Jongup had taken seats on the floor, their ears pressed against the door in the hopes of listening in, of understanding what was going on. To the right of their room, another door closed and finally the Hyungs began.

 

“How is it, Hyung?” Yongguk started. His voice was tense, as it had often been of late.

 

“Not too bad, Yongguk-ah.” Sungwon's voice was soft, and Junhong heard his footsteps, the sigh he released as he collapsed back on one of the small couches on the verge of falling apart, “I've done some nosing around and I've got a pretty good idea of how things would pan out if you did intend to follow through with a lawsuit.”

 

“And?” Himchan prompted.

 

Sungwon took in a deep breath, seeming to contemplate his reply for a long while, “They have faith in their lawyers, but there's only so far they'll protect the company. Yes, it will be a risk, but the company is not as wealthy as they like to pretend, there's only so long they'd be able to carry their weight with such little money coming in. Most companies like to drag these things out, but you're in a good position. TS can't afford that.”

 

“So we'd have the upper hand.” Himchan said.

 

“Not necessarily.” Yongguk interjected.

 

“Yongguk-ah is right, Himchan-ah. It's not predictable how a lawsuit would go, I don't know what tactics they would take, but if the five of you decided to go through with this, now would be the time. Before they have whatever money this tour will bring.” Sungwon said, and Junhong tensed.

 

“Wait, five?” Himchan asked, voicing Junhong's own confusion. The two maknaes turned their heads, exchanging frowns between them.

 

“Well... There is one complicating factor.” Sungwon hesitated again, and even through the door Junhong could swear he felt the tension in the room, “For you two and Daehyun, Youngjae and Jongup this will be far easier. You are adults, you have control over your own contracts, you're recognised by the government and the law as capable of being independent and self-sufficient but Junhong... He's still a child, in the eyes of the law. His parents live on the other side of the country, and that contract states your management as his temporary guardians in their absence.” Junhong felt his stomach plummet, “If you choose to file this lawsuit, if you choose to leave, it will have to be without him.”

 

Fingers brushed against his palm, and Junhong jumped. He turned his head towards Jongup, his friend of so many years who gazed towards him with so much concern it took all self control not to allow the tears that threatened his eyes to spill over.

 

“Leave without Junnie?” Himchan asked.

 

“No.” Yongguk said, voice firm, “That's not an option.”

 

“Yongguk-ah you need to think about this. I know it isn't ideal, but this is not simple. The longer you wait to do this, the stronger the company will be and the harder it will become to get what you deserve.” Sungwon reasoned.

 

“Junhong will be eighteen in six months.” Yongguk said.

 

“Six months could be all it takes.” Sungwon replied, “Nothing would happen to him, I swear that to you. While the lawsuit is going on, he will still technically be in the group, it's not like they'll start debuting him as a solo artist or in another group altogether. And besides, Kyungwook and I will watch out for him. I know it isn't ideal, but I will do everything in my power to keep him safe until he's of age, then he can join you.”

 

“I said no.” Yongguk was angry now, his voice biting, “I'm not leaving him behind.”

 

Silence stretched out for what felt like hours as Junhong and Jongup sat together on the dusty carpet, hands gripping each other as though they were on the verge right then of being ripped apart.

 

“If that is your decision.” Sungwon conceded.

 

“It is.” Yongguk replied with a snap, “Now go. We have an early morning tomorrow.”

 

Another silence stretched out, interrupted only with murmured goodbyes and the front door swinging closed and locking with a beep. “Breathe, Bbang.” Himchan said, and Junhong heard the grunt their leader offered him in reply.

 

Footsteps approached down the hall, and both he and Jongup scrambled to climb from the floor and onto the beds, sitting cross legged and facing one another just as the door opened. Himchan rubbed at his forehead and smiled to them sleepily, “Jun what are you doing in here?” He asked and the maknae shrugged, he didn't quite trust his voice, “Go to bed. You need rest.”

 

The maknae nodded and stood, chewing anxiously on his lip as he slipped free of their bedroom and down the hall towards his own. When he passed the kitchen, though, he saw Yongguk standing against the counter, a glass of water in his hands and he stopped, watched as their leader savoured every sip with eyes fixed out the window. Their dorm was nothing fancy or special, it was small and a little run down with furniture well worn with age and falling apart. It was striking to Junhong, though, how in their shabby kitchen surrounded by their mess, Yongguk could still look as mesmerising as ever.

 

“How much did you hear?” Yongguk asked, he'd been watching Junhong's reflection in the windowpane.

 

The maknae swallowed, looked down to his feet. He'd grown tall over the past two years, with long awkward limbs and a too-skinny torso, but Yongguk had a way of still making him feel so small, “A little, not much.” He lied.

 

The leader quirked a small smile and turned his head, came closer. He stood inches below him now, and his fingers lifted to slide through the maknae's soft hair to bring him down just that little bit further to brush his lips in a comforting kiss across his forehead, “Get some rest, Junhonggie.” He said, “We have a tour to prepare for.” And with that, he made down the hall, towards the room they shared.

 

“Hyung?” Junhong called to stop him, fingers twisting together with nerves. Yongguk stopped again, glanced back to him with an expecting look and the maknae had to swallow down the nerves that he feared would overwhelm him, “You won't leave me, will you?” He asked.

 

Yongguk's smile was sad, but still he shook his head, “No, Junnie. I won't leave you.”

 

 

 

viii.

A tangle of corridors was laid out before Junhong, and he couldn't remember which way to go. The signs nailed in to the walls were in Russian and English, but he couldn't speak enough of either to figure out a single word that directed him the way he wanted to go. On the flight between Warsaw and Moscow he and Youngjae had poured over their phones, attempting to memorise something to say to their fans, but the words faded from his mind like fog as soon as the concert was over, and he was left with nothing.

 

He turned left, then right, his coat tucked under his arm. Russia was not as cold as he had anticipated, but Summer was not taking over Moscow the way it had been elsewhere in Europe on the earlier legs of their tour. He liked it this way, though, he preferred it when wind chilled them through their open windows and he would shiver. Sometimes Yongguk would smile, come over to him and wrap a blanket around his shoulders as he had in Helsinki, or offer him the sweatshirt that lay haphazardly on his suitcase in Vancouver. Maybe Junhong should find himself pathetic for the way it still gave him butterflies every time Yongguk's fingers lingered on his skin, but he couldn't stop that feeling. He'd never been able to.

 

Finally the corridor ahead seemed familiar, and it wasn't too long before he was pressing his keycard against the sensor, and the door was clicking unlocked. The lights were off and the curtains drawn when he made it inside, and he tiptoed through the room, discarding clothing on chairs, scrubbing his teeth with haste and making it back to the beds. A breeze was filtering in through the window, sweeping the curtains out of the way and Junhong could see the lump on one of the mattresses in the entering light, a body concealed by blankets. For a moment, he hesitated, thought about how easy it would be to climb into his own bed and turn around and face away from his Hyung so they could spend another night like brothers, keeping from one another's way. It was too easy to pretend the feelings weren't here, and it always had been, and Junhong hated that more than anything else.

 

Bare feet moved across soft carpet and with a deep breath he lifted the blanket, slid underneath and towards the warm body he knew all to well, but still not enough. He wondered what he would say if Yongguk asked him what he was doing, whether he would lie and say he was cold, whether he would tell the truth. Tell Yongguk he was sick of pretending everything was the way it had been, that he didn't notice they'd changed.

 

On the street below them, a car alarm went off and Junhong watched as Yongguk rolled over towards him. His eyes were open but he did not speak, not as his gaze traced over Junhong's moon-lit face, nor as his hand moved to brush across his smooth, soft cheek, palm warm against skin, thumb rubbing at the bone. Neither did he talk, of course, as he leant in to capture Junhong's mouth in the warmth of a loving kiss. No words were needed between them when their lips, tongues, fingers and skin could all converse together in a language of their own.

 

 

 

ix.

The air conditioning whirred as it worked to keep the room warm, and Junhong's eyes were closed. It was mid afternoon on a Wednesday, a random day off given to him like a gift in the midst of rhythmic work and a too-long winter.

 

Yongguk always kept the heating in his apartment too high, he loved lounging around in his summer clothes, seated comfortably on the warmed floors or laying back on the couch while working on whatever piece that occupied his mind. That particular afternoon, early in February, they lay sprawled and naked on top of his bed with bodies entwined, their chests rising and falling in unison. Junhong's fingers brushed through Yongguk's hair. It was longer than it had been for quite some time, curled a little at the ends, too. He'd always liked the way it sat when it was left to grow out, when it was un-styled and fluffed from his hands running through it the way they did when he thought for too long, worked too hard. In those moments, Junhong would sit down and drag Yongguk with him, guide his head into his lap and untangle each strand, smooth it out again. Sometimes he wondered if his toxic thoughts would untangle with them, but others he knew they could not. It was never that simple, no matter how badly Junhong wished it was.

 

Down the hall, he could hear the sound of Tigger and Mochi playing, on the street below car horns blew, the wind whipped around the window, but there they were safe, secluded. Once, a long time ago, Junhong couldn't have imagined this sensation, this familiarity, how warm it felt to be wrapped up and safe in someone else's love.

 

Yongguk emitted a low hum, and Junhong opened his eyes. Slender fingers began to trace lines of black ink across the expanse of Junhong's toned stomach, “It's healing well.” The leader said and he followed his fingers with his lips, warm and soft and perfect in every way. Together, they shared in a gentle smile, and Junhong's fingers slipped free from detangling his hair to trace the curve of his ear, the length of his nose and angle of his jaw towards the full lips that parted under his touch.

 

He remembered the first time Yongguk had smiled at him that way, years before from across an empty room. Truthfully, until that moment he had not believed Yongguk had seen him as anything more than a child, and an annoyance, a dead weight chained to his ankle to drag him down. With that smile, though, everything changed. It's funny, he thought, how easy it can be to fall in love.

 

“What are you thinking about?” The leader murmured, his head dipping forward to press a kiss to the centre of Junhong's palm.

 

The maknae smiled, “Nothing.” He said. Yongguk gave him a disbelieving look, but he did not press. He had always been good at that.

 

“If you say so.” He replied and set his head down again. Junhong shivered when the warmth of his exhale brushed down and across his stomach and pelvis, then a palm settled just beneath his navel and Junhong's own fingers started again to smooth through his hair.

 

“Hyung..?” He spoke again and Yongguk glanced up at him.

 

For a while, they just looked at each other, taking the other in. Junhong thought he had long since memorised every line and mark on his Hyung's face, but still he could never stop staring, never stop committing it to memory so that every time he closed his eyes, it would be Yongguk he could see. Lord knew that had been enough to get him through the loneliest nights that winter.

 

“Are you coming back?” He heard himself ask over the rhythmic sound of blood pounding in his ears.

 

Slowly, the leader shifted over the mattress, pushed himself to sit. The fingers that had been smoothing across his stomach minutes before moved instead over his navel, between his breasts to his chest, throat, neck until a familiar palm was cradling his jaw. Their faces were level with the tips of their noses tenderly touching, and again Yongguk smiled.

 

“Yes, my love.” He murmured against Junhong's lips, “I'm coming back.”

 

That evening, in the sun's dying light, they made love.

 

 

 

iii.

Junhong's back was pressed against a mirror, his legs tucked close in against his chest. Hands were pressed over his face, blocking out the harsh and artificial light like it threatened to burn him, to blind him. Everything was too much and his young body, bruised and battered from hours of training, felt as though it were going to fall apart, his vocal chords, strained from days of rehearsing, could barely make any sound. All he felt was terrified and alone.

 

Emotion caught in his throat and he wheezed for breath, brought his knees in closer and across the room the door opened with a click. He didn't want to look, not as the door swung shut, nor as footsteps approached him from across the vacant practice space. His eyes closed tighter and he shrunk back into himself, attempting to hide from the stern words forthcoming, the strong hands that would grip his fragile limbs, drag him back to where he was supposed to be. Instead, a solid presence took a seat by his side, and a warm arm slipped around his shoulders, drew him in closer and closer until his body was tucked to a supporting chest.

 

Junhong only realised it was Yongguk when his face was pressed into his shirt for comfort and he could smell his cologne but for the first time he was not afraid of the elder man. He couldn't be when he was being held as though he were the most precious thing on this earth.

 

When Junhong started to cry, the arms around him only tightened, a hand soothed in rhythm over his back, “Shhhh...” The leader breathed out into his hair, “It's alright. Everything's going to be alright. Hyung is going to take care of you from now on.”

 

**Author's Note:**

> This work is inspired by the phenomenally talented Nana, who created [this beautiful work.](https://whiteblankgallery.tumblr.com/post/157725287955/happiness-is-when-im-with-you) Please follow and support her on [tumblr!](https://whiteblankgallery.tumblr.com) She's incredible.
> 
> The story is a little rough and it isn't perfect, but this is an idea I've had for quite a while. Thank you so much for reading, I hope you enjoyed x


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